Raven
by Skradio
Summary: Raven is a simple farmboy that lives in a secluded corner of a country known as Elrios. One day, when he's out hunting, an explosion reveals a shimmering stone, which he brings home. But little does he know-this stone will change his life forever.


_prologue_

Wind howled through the night, whipping tree branches around, carrying a faint scent that would change the world. A Shade lifted his head, sniffing the air. And anyone, seeing him do this, might have mistaken him for a very odd human, had it not been for his crimson hair and maroon eyes. The dark obscured the rest of him, but had it been daylight, his skin would appear a pale grey.

Catching the scent, he blinked in surprise. The message that he'd received had been correct—they were here. Or, maybe it was a trap. He sniffed the air again, weighed the odds, then whispered icily, "Spread out and hide behind those trees and bushes. Stop whoever is coming, or _die._"

A dozen Trocks shuffled around him, with short swords and round iron shields painted with some sort of black symbol. They resembled, if not very large, men with bowed legs and thick arms. Twisted horns grew out of their heads above their small ears, and tusks extended from their mouths.

The Shade peered around the thick tree he was hiding behind and looked up the trail. It was far too dark for any human to see properly, but then again, the Shade wasn't entirely human, was he? For him, the faint moonlight shining through the leaves was like sunshine, and every detail was sharp to his searching gaze. He could've counted all the leaves on a tree a half-league away, but instead kept his eyes on the trail. He remained unnaturally quiet, a blood-red sword in hand. A wire-thin scratch curved down the blade, stained black with years of age and grime—and it didn't seem to wash out. The weapon was thin enough to slip between a pair of ribs, but stout enough to hack through the strongest armor—both of which the accursed blade did often.

The Trocks shuffled around, as they could not see as well as the Shade. They fumbled with their weapons like blind beggars, and a twig snapped, eliciting an angry hiss from the Shade. The Trocks shrunk back into the brush. The Shade hissed again, suppressing his distaste—the Trocks smelled like fetid meat—and turned away, eyes back on the road. They were tools, he reminded himself, nothing more.

The minutes became hours, and the Shade forced back his impatience. The scent had wafted far ahead of its owners, and waiting was cumbersome. He did not let the Trocks get up and warm themselves, and after some debate—he was sure he could be a thousand times quieter than the beasts—denied himself the luxuries as well, staying behind the trees and watching the trail. Another gust of wind rushed through the forest, carrying the same scent, but stronger this time. Excitement and adrenaline coursed through him, and he hissed, "Get ready."

His whole body vibrated, the tip of his sword moving in small circles. So many plots, so much pain, so much endless sabotage and betrayal had led up to this one moment, and it simply would not do to lose control now.

The Trock's eyes brightened under their thick brows—if they could even be called brows, they were the same fibrous material as their tusks and teeth—and the creatures held their weapons tighter, knuckles turning white under their skin. They all watched as faint smudges at the edge of the trail grew into shapes, and then into people on horses, as they advanced down the trail.

Three white horses with riders cantered toward the ambush the Shade had set up, their heads held high, coats rippling like liquid silver.

On the first horse to the left there was an elf with pointed ears and elegantly slanted eyebrows. She was old, but the Shade was not one to underestimate his enemies—he had learned that when some pesky Eastern Elrios girl came trying to "save" him, giving him quite a beatdown. The elderly elf wore a rapier by her side, and some sort of staff that was also belted on. Slung over her back was a quiver of arrows, as well as a yew bow.

The last rider, the one on the right, had the same fair face, though without the creases. He was male, slim but strong, like a rapier. This one carried a spear in his left hand, and a dagger of what appeared to be ivory was strapped to his belt. A helm of extraordinary craftsmanship, likely made by the ponggos, rested on his head, inlaid with gold and jewels.

Between these two—guards, the Shade assumed—sat an elven lady, fair and young. Her hair was a lime yellow, tinged with green. Her face was framed by long lime locks, her deep eyes the only sign betraying her age, filled with wisdom, the color of emerald green oak leaves, the color of nature's very essence. Her clothes were unadorned, yet her beauty was undiminished. At her side was a sword of elegance, silver and gold with a circular ruby in its hilt, with sloping gold wings adorning the edges. Strapped to her hand was a crossbow of sorts—though the Shade could see that it was unstrung. She carried in her lap a pouch she looked at very frequently, as if it would disappear if she didn't.

One of the elves whispered to the other, yet for all his night vision was worth, he could not hear what was being said, as his hearing was not enhanced. They stopped on the road for a moment, and the lady spoke with obvious authority, and the guards switched places. Now, the one wearing the helm shuffled ahead of the others a bit, shifting his spear to a readier grip, should an ambush take place. Which, the Shade thought gleefully, it would. They passed the first few Trocks and the Shade without suspicion.

Sweet, sweet, victory was his, when the wind suddenly changed direction, heavy with the Trock's stink. The horses reared in alarm, their riders stiffening, eyes flashing. And then, they wheeled their mounts around and galloped away.

The lady's horse surged forward, leaving her guards far behind. Forsaking their hiding, the Trocks stood, and released a stream of black arrows, appearing like an inky black line showing the void itself. The Shade leapt out from behind his tree, raised his right hand, and yelled, "Kambori!"

Shadows formed the vague shape of a hand, grasping out toward the elven lady, seemingly sucking up its surrounding it. The hand struck her steed, which toppled with a high squeal, plowing into the ground and launching the elven lady off. She flipped in the air with inhuman speed and landed on her feet, then glanced back for her guards.

The Trocks' arrows had long since brought down the two elves, who had fallen from their steeds and their blood pooled in the dirt. The Trocks rushed over to claim the spoils, and the Shade glowered, shrieking, "After her! She is the one I want!" The monsters grunted, and started down the trail in pursuit.

A cry tore from the elf's lips as she saw her dead companions, taking a step toward them. Seeing the Trocks, she cursed them and bounded into the forest, setting down a bed of thorn vine traps as she left, leaving the Trocks to pick through the thorny weeds. By the time they had, she was long gone.

The Trocks chased after her, and the Shade climbed a piece of granite that jutted out higher, and leapt into the trees, so he could see all of the surrounding forest. He raised his hand again, and uttered, "Istalri!" and a quarter-mile square of the forest a mile ahead burst into flames. He burned down section after section, until there was a ring of fire around the ambush site, with his tree as its center point. They were like a crown resting on the forest. Satisfied, he sat down on the thick branch he was standing on and waited.

The band of fire only thickened, contracting the area the Trocks had to search, and also that where the elf could hide. He heard shouts and a coarse scream, and grudgingly knew that neither could belong to the elf. Through his perch above he saw three of his charges fall on top of one another, and the elf running toward the remaining Trocks.

As the Shade climbed down to a manageable height—high enough that he would not be spotted, low enough that he could jump down safely if need be, twenty feet, he thought it about—and as he climbed, the elf continued to run toward the tree at a tremendous speed. The Shade examined the ground below him, then jumped down and landed directly in front of the elf. She skidded around, and faster than any mortal man, dashed the other way. Trock blood stained her sword, and the Shade watched as drops of the foul liquid stained the pouch still in her hand.

The Trocks came out of the forest, hemming her in, and blocking the only escape routes. The only way she could get out was to either slay all the Trocks, or brave the Shade. He raised a crimson gloved hand, savoring her helplessness.

"Get her."

The Trocks surged forward—the dust they kicked up got into the Shade's eyes, blown by the wind. And this disgusted him, for he had been in Hamel at some point in his life, and he much preferred the water and calm waves than the Sander Desert's brute, dry, heat—and as they ran toward the elf, she stuck a hand in the pouch she had been carrying and dropped the leather to the ground. In her hand, an obsidian black stone with orange markings racing through it, reflecting the light of the fires that would soon close in on them. She raised it over her head, eyes closed, lips forming frantic words. The Shade knew what she was doing, and desperately barked, "Kambori!"

Faster than any arrow could hope to fly, a shadow hand raced toward her, its aim true, grasping for her heart. But it was too late, because in a flash of darkness, the stone had gone. The hand clutched her, and as the Shade released the magic, she collapsed.

The Shade howled, stalking forward. He flung his sword at a tree, and the point embedded itself in the bark, quivering. Nine bolts of energy shot out from his palm, killing the Trocks instantly. He ripped his sword free of the tree and stalked to the elf.

Her beauty, which would have charmed any mortal man, held no charm or meaning to him. Rolling off his tongue were wretched prophecies, spoken by the demons inside him in a language from another dimension. He balled his hands into fists, and glared at the sky, unblinking. The cold stars stared back, otherworldly watchers unconcerned for his fates. Disgust curled his lips, and he whirled around to face the elf again.

He examined her, confirming the stone was gone, and retrieved his steed from the trees. She was the only horse that was still alive. He tied the elf onto the saddle and mounted the charger, and grinding his heels as far as they would go into the poor horse's ribs, made his way out of the woods.

He quenched the fires in his path but left the rest to burn.

**A/N**: Hi hi! Skradio here. Sorry I haven't updated _A Bloodstained Knight _in a while, but I do have a reason for this. My computer was recently infected with CryptoWall, which is basically a virus that encrypts your files, and you have to pay 500 USD to get them back. Unfortunately, it does infect .doc and .docx files, so the story was lost. However, since I _did _upload it here, I can retrieve my previous chapter. Again, unfortunately, I lost what I had of the new chapter. I found the beginnings of this story in my flash drive, so to seem active enough I'll put it up here.

This new series is heavily influenced by the _Inheritance Cycle _by Christopher Paolini, or you could just say it's an Elsword-glorified rewrite. So, the first few chapters will be relatively similar, sharing major events and whatnot, as well as story titles, and perhaps a slightly differently worded summary. Eventually, I may also draw up a map of this story's Elrios. Another thing to note is that this will likely be the only Author's Note I'll put in this story, simply because I find it rather troubling to do so. There might be some in the future, I'm not too terribly sure. Replies will likely _not _be responded to, but if there are any at all, just know that I do see them, and I appreciate any and all there are.

As I attempt to rewrite another chapter of _A Bloodstained Knight, _I'll be posting some more of this story. I have this prologue and the first two chapters, and am in the middle of writing the third. I'm rather enjoying writing this, so I may or may not put _A Bloodstained Knight _on hiatus, who knows. I do have the rest of _A Bloodstained Knight _planned out, though, so expect a few plot twists.

I'm also not entirely sure if _Eragon _or the series in general has a category, so for now it'll just be in _Elsword._

One more thing to note is that this story may add or remove characters on a whim, as well as giving spotlight to more minor characters. The "Shade" mentioned in this chapter is someone you may or may not have figured out already-I won't spoil if you haven't, but it's just the "species name", so to speak, I'll give this specific character. When he is acknowledged again, he will have a name.

So yeah, expect quite a bit. The chapter after this is relatively short, as a last note before I sign off. I hope you enjoy this story.

The Skygge is Shadow Forest.


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